


If Skating Were Easy, They'd Call it Hockey

by Moonlite_Knight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Concussions, Ice Skating, M/M, followed by unforgiving cold, general hotness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlite_Knight/pseuds/Moonlite_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone asks, Dean got his concussion hunting. He was never anywhere near an ice rink, no matter what anyone else says. Shut up Cas. He was never there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Skating Were Easy, They'd Call it Hockey

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Если бы фигурное катание было простым, его бы назвали хоккеем](https://archiveofourown.org/works/622462) by [Koryuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koryuu/pseuds/Koryuu)



> Author notes: This was written for mishamiga for the Dean/Cas Secret Santa Exchange on LJ. The prompt was: Dean is in south Texas on Christmas Eve where it's still extremely hot because of a case and wishes he were somewhere cooler. Cas zaps him away to New York, where everything is covered in snow. Huge bonus points for Cas kicking Dean's ass at ice skating. With some hurt/comfort and fluff thrown in.

It was December. It was nearly Christmas. And it was freaking hot.

“Are you done yet?” Dean called to his brother from his position on the sofa. He was stretched out on the sofa, dressed in the thinnest pair of jeans and shirt that he owned. There was a cold can of beer placed within easy reach, along with several files that doubled as fans. But none of them made a difference.

Dean was still hot.

Not hot as in ‘ _hot_ ’, though he was that too, but hot as in ‘ _I’m slowly boiling to death in this heat trap and my freakishly-impervious-to-this-weather-brother does not care_ ’.

“You know,”  Sam said, turning away from his laptop to grace him with a glare. “This would go much faster if you actually helped instead of lying there, whining.”

“It’s a freaking hundred degrees in here, Sammy,” Dean said, fanning himself with the papers he was meant to be reviewing. He’d get back to them. Soon. “I get to complain about it if I want.”

They were in Kingsville, Texas working a run-of-the-mill haunting. They’d only been in town for two days, but both were fed with the weather, Dean more so than Sam. It had a lot to do with the fact that Dean’s skin and the sun did not mix. He hadn’t been this freckly since the time he’d had to pose as a lifeguard for a few weeks.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that hot.” he said, turning back to his laptop and discreetly pulling at his collar.

“Says the guy sweating like a cat in a Korean deli.“ Dean sniffed the air and winced. “Dude, I can smell you all the way over here.”

Sam sniffed. Shit. Dean was right. He reeked. Didn’t mean he had to admit it though.

“It’s Texas, Dean. What did you expect?”

“I didn’t except to be cooked alive. It’s _December_. Where’s the crappy, cold weather?”

“Global warming.”

“What?”

“Global warming?” Sam repeated, opening up a new browser and checking the timings for the local coffee shops. “You know, uh, climate change?”

“Yeah, don’t care. You find the bones yet?

“No, not yet. Actually,“ Sam closed his laptop and stood up. “I’m going to make a quick coffee run.”

Dean perked up. Coffee shops usually had air conditioners, something that their current motel was too cheap to offer. “Hey, why do you get to go?

Sam smirked at him as he dragged on his boots. “Are you volunteering to go out into the sun? Thought you said you didn’t want to get more freckles.”

Dean frowned. “Shut it, bitch.”

“I’ll bring you back a donut, jerk.”

“Bring some more beer!”

Sam answered him with a wave and a slammed door.

Dean grabbed the beer can and pressed it to his forehead, relishing the cold emitting from it. It was too hot to sleep, but resting his eyes was fine.

Seriously though. It was _December_. Was it too much to ask for a little snow?

“Hello Dean.”

“Jesus Christ!” Dean was on his feet, beer can dropped carelessly onto the ground, gun in his hand before he realized that it was only Cas. “What the hell, dude! Don‘t sneak up on me like that.”

“I said hello.”

“Well, next time do it without the whole creeper bit, okay?”

Cas frowned at him. “I don’t see how I was being creepy. I wasn’t even watching you sleep this time.”

Dean, in the process of bending over to pick up the beer, froze. “Wait, you still watch me when I’m sleeping?”

Suddenly, Cas was looking everywhere but Dean. “No.”

“Cas, we had this discussion already. Watching people sleep is not good. It’s like rapey bad.”

Cas eye‘s refocused on Dean‘s face and he frowned. “I didn’t realize I made you feel threatened. I’ll stop.”

“I don—” Dean paused, thought about, and then shrugged. “Yeah whatever. As long as you won’t do it again. So what‘s up? Why are you here?”

“I need to take a break in my search.”

“No luck on the God front?”

“No. “

“Sucks dude.” Dean said, flopping back onto the couch. “Sit down wherever and grab a beer then. Sammy’s making a coffee run, he’ll back soon.”

Cas seated himself awkwardly on the edge of the armchair near Dean. He didn’t look the tiniest bit relaxed.

“Dude, aren’t you boiling in that?” Dean asked, eyeing the trench coat.

“The heat doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, well it does me. I feel hot just looking at you walking around in that.”

“You don’t like this weather.” It wasn’t a question, but Dean felt the need to defend himself.

“It’s a hundred degrees out there, Cas. _No one_ likes this weather.”

Cas glanced out the window. “It’s only ninety three degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Yeah well, in the winter, it feels a whole lot worse. My body’s expecting to be frozen, not boiled.”

Cas got a curious look on his face, one that, had dean been paying more attention would have instantly put him on edge. “Where would you rather be right now, Dean?”

“Someplace cold, like New York.” He answered immediately. He’d been thinking of all the places he much rather be all day, and had settled on New York a while ago. “They’re definitely having a white Christmas. Plus skater chicks are hot, and more than willing to help warm up after a nice cold day skating.”

“Skater?”

“Ice skating.” Dean said, thinking about the last time he’d picked up a skater chick. Man, the stamina in that girl. “I’d love to be at an ice rink right now.”

He noticed the hand reaching for his head too late.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a park, staring at Cas who looked inordinately pleased with himself, and fuck, it’s _freezing_.

“The hell!” He hissed, clutching his arms and trying not to shiver. He failed horribly. And, shit, was that snow on the ground? “Where the hell are we?”

“New York.”

“ _New York_? Why are we in New York?”

“Because that’s where you said you wanted to be.”

Dean was trying really hard not to lose his temper right now. He was already attracting a lot of stare for being out in just a t-shirt, the last thing he needed was more attention. But Cas wasn’t making it any easier on him with his freaking unhelpful answers.

“I know what I said!” Dean snapped. “I didn’t mean that I wanted to be in New York, _right fucking now_.”

“I asked you where you wanted to go.” Cas replied, starting to look annoyed.

“I thought you meant figuratively!”

“Why would I ask you where you wanted to go figuratively if I could take you wherever you wanted to go in a minute?”

Dean groaned. “Look, I’m freezing my balls off here. Just—”

Cas disappeared suddenly.

“Dammit Cas!” Dean shouted, resolutely ignoring all the stare the action received. He kicked at a nearby pile of snow and regretted it immediately when the snow started seeping into his jeans, chilling his skin.

“Here.”

Dean definitely did not jump when Cas reappeared in front of him, holding a sweater and a jacket. No he did not.

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” Dean said, taking the offered clothes. “You can’t just zap me wherever you want Cas.”

“I‘m sorry,” Cas said, looking not at all sorry He shifted his gaze to something behind Dean. “Do you want me to take you back?”

Dean followed his gaze and  realized for the first time exactly where they where.  

An ice rink.

“Huh. Well, since we’re already here, may as well have some fun before we go back. What do you say, Cas?”

The pleased look was back on Cas’s face when he looked back at the angel.

~~~

“Shit, shit, shit.” Dean cursed some time later, gripping the rail lining the rink tightly. Apparently, ice skating was not like riding a bike.

“Do you need help?” Cas asked, skating up to him. Backwards.

It kind of irked Dean that the angel, who had never skated before, was better than him. Especially when Cas’s skills (he’d circled the rink twice now, sailing impossibly smoothly on the ice) had gained him an annoying amount of admiring looks. All Dean (barely halfway through his first lap) had gotten so far were a few snickers and a possible giggle.

“I don’t need help.” Dean insisted, letting go of the rail. His hand was back two seconds later. Fuck, the ice was slippery.

“You could hold my hand.” Cas offered skating closer, looking strangely hopeful.

Dean firmly told himself that the flush on his checks was from the cold, not from the prospect of holding hands.

“No thanks dude.” he said, avoiding eye contact.  “It’ll be kinda hard to pick up any chicks like that.”

Cas immediately moved away. “I don’t see how not being able to take two steps without being in danger of falling is better.” he said, before turning around and zooming away.

“Frigging show off.” Dean muttered, letting go to the rail, and taking a step forward, intending to show Cas that he wasn’t the only one here that could frigging skate. He took another step, and then another.

He grinned. “Hey, I’m not too bad.”

And that was when the world exploded into a shower of bright lights.

When Dean next opened his eyes, all he could see was the bright blue of the sky. He blinked and realized that he was on his back, freezing and soaking wet. Why the hell was he lying in the snow? And why the hell was the sky so blue?

He blinked again and realized that it wasn’t the sky he was staring at. It was Cas’s eyes. The angel was practically on top of him, their faces barely half a foot apart. Dean was too disoriented by the close proximity to call him out on it for a minute.  

“Dean,” Cas said, still disturbingly close. Dean could feel the angel’s warm breath on his face as he spoke. “Are you okay?”

“What happened?” Dean said, pushing Cas away as he struggled to sit up. The world titled uncomfortably. He lay back down with a wince as the back of his head throbbed viscously. “Were we attacked?”

“You slipped.” Cas told him.

“What?” Dean grabbed onto Cas’s arm, trying to focus on him. “I—what?

“You tried to go too fast and slipped.” Cas placed a hand on his forehead. “I think you have a concussion.”

“Like hell I do!” He shoved Cas away and tried to get up again. This time he almost made it all the way before the world titled nauseatingly and he sagged into Cas’s ready arms.

Neither of them said a word for a minute. Dean trying his best to ignore the need to unite the contents of his stomach with the ground and the rapidly growing pounding in his head and Cas just seemed content with standing there holding Dean in his arms.

“Dean.” He said

“What?”

“I know you have a concussion now.”

His laugh came out more like a groan. “You think Einstein?”

“Yes. You have lost control of your motor skills, you are nauseous, the back of your head is swollen, and you were temporary unconscious. All this points towards a concussion”

Dean tensed, horrified. “I passed out?”

“Only for a few minutes.” Cas said in what he clearly thought was a reassuring manner. It wasn’t.

“Are you telling me I got fucking knocked out while _ice skating_?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

Cas frowned. “Why would I lie?”

“Shut up. You’re lying.”

“Dean, I—”

“Cas, shut up. You’re lying and we’re never talking of this again.”

“But—”

“Never. Again.”

Cas’s frown deepened but thankfully, he stopped talking. Which was good because Dean’s stomach was threatening to revolt if he opened his mouth again. And the pounding in his head was getting worse. He turned his attention to the ground, intending to grab some snow for his head. He paused.

“Cas?

Cas didn’t say anything but he turned his face towards Dean, staring directly into his eyes to show that he was listening.

“Why am I sitting on your trench coat?”

“Technically it’s an overcoat.”

“Over—? Fine. Why am I sitting on your overcoat?”

“I didn’t want to lay you down on the snow.”

The fact that Cas had bothered to think of that made Dean feel unpleasantly warm. That’s when he realized that Cas still had his arms wrapped around him and that he was actually leaning into the angel’s embrace. Fuck. He immediately attempted to jerk away but Cas just tightened his arms around him.

“Cas, let go.”

“No. You’ll just try something stupid, like standing up again, and that’s not good for you.”

“Laying on the snow’s even worse.”

“You’re not laying on the snow. You’re sitting on it.”

“Cas, let me go.”

“No.”

Dean made one more futile attempt to escape and then gave up. Even if he hadn’t been experiencing a headache the size of Texas, there was nothing he could do against Cas’s inhuman strength. He was stuck until the angel decided to let him go and he was just too tired to keep up his futile attempts at pulling away. Shit. Fatigue. Another sign of a concussion. His stomach turned unpleasantly.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“I’m going to throw up now. If you don’t let me go, I’m aiming for you.”

Cas let him go.

When Dean was done, his stomach felt considerably better. His head on the other hand was now killing him.

“This friggn’ sucks” he muttered, wiping his mouth and squinting his eyes shut. “I hate concussions.”

“Should I take you to a hospital now?” Cas asked, too close again. “Or to Sam?”

“Sam.” Dean said immediately. He unscrewed his eyes long enough to glance around quickly. “Wait. We’re not at the ice rink.”

Cas didn’t reply for a long moment. Dean turned towards him to see him looking ashamed.

“I moved you while you were unconscious. I’m sorry Dean. They were about to call an ambulance.”

“So you just mojoed me out of there? Right under everyone’s noses?

“I waited until their backs were turned.”

Dean groaned. “So you decided to move me to a freaking snow bank? You didn’t think that taking me back to Sam would be a better idea?”

“I didn’t want to risk moving you too far when you were unconscious.” Cas defended himself. “You told me that you felt worse the last time I did that.”

Which was true, and probably explained why his head left worse than it had any right to. Because there was no way in hell that he’d managed to slip hard enough to concuss himself this badly. But if he had to chose between sitting in snow, slowly getting wetter by the minute, and sitting in a warm bed in Texas with a possibly bigger headache but less chance of catching pneumonia, then he was taking the bed.

“I can handle it.” Dean decided, slowly getting to his feet. He graciously allowed Cas to help him. “Take me back to the motel. And Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Cas said, brushing off the snow in his hair.

“We’re telling Sam that we were jumped by demons.” Dean poked him to emphasize how important this was. “Okay? If you tell Sam anything else, I’m denying it. And then I’m cutting up your trench coat.”

“Ah.”

That didn‘t sound good. “‘Ah’? What do you mean ‘ah’?”

“I might have already called Sam.”

Dean froze. “When the hell did you do that?”

“After I moved you. He was more amused than concerned oddly.”

“That’s it. Your trench coat is dead.”

Warm fingers touched his forehead, and the next thing he knew, Dean was laying on his bed, warm and dry. Cas was nowhere in sight.

“Coward.” Dean told the empty room.


End file.
